The Card

Birth Day

Birth day. Day to celebrate being born. I think it a little ridiculous--this celebrating of one's birth--celebrate my mother instead [appropriately we toasted her with margaritas]. She's the one who laboured and pushed me through the birth canal and witnessed my first breaths, my father waiting outside the delivery room this being the hospital way in 1970. But in a small sense a birthday does please my inner socialist and me. Everyone has one--a birthday, that is. The great leveler no matter the tricky circumstances later--the ones involving money, love, opportunity. Money and love. All born.

As far as birthdays go, I had a good one this year. People I love rung me or wrote to me. My sister sent a gift via FedEx, an unusual action for her, and I found it waiting next to cartons of milk at my back door. My dad left a singing message. He has not sung to me before in any capacity as far as I can remember. 35 years to realize that my dad can carry a tune. Actually, he can more than carry a tune.

Gifts embarrass me, but who doesn't like them? Especially good ones--like hand-knit striped socks, which I am wearing right now as the thermometer reads 81. They fit like a glove, like gloves for feet. And I am pleased to now own a woman and her savages, along with swimming tiger and bear--in technicolor. And reading material, lots of it, read and passed along because she thought that I would enjoy it. And how could I not with titles such as Bitch and Bust and Ms. and A Bell Ringing in the Empty Sky? Another book--A Shadow Born of Earth--from the givers of the socks. Because I like photography. And the possibility of reading in English or Spanish. I received hugs, and I mean real hugs, from a baby. Uncommon flowers at table--sent to surprise. A pen and ink sketch from a sketchbook and a handmade card that shows girl celebrating in a dotted skirt very much like one that I own. Also good--a husband's flower arrangement from garden and secured babysitting. Visit from baby and aunt and more flowers. Flowers from gardens. Looking forward to breakfast on Saturday morning. Sitting next to my four-year-old, our bedroom in late afternoon where the light is best and talking about the day of her birth, what it was like and why. Sweet Jane being sung by DK, a sweet thing.

As long as people celebrate days of birth. And they always will, I think, I am going to try to see it from his point of view. Why not let it be the coming together of people to celebrate a person, whatever it is that those people find worth celebrating? Maybe it's not much or maybe it's a lot. Depends on whom you ask and when you ask them. But I do know this. It feels good that people made time and effort to celebrate my mother's labours and me--in all of the ways that I have described. These things matter.

To all of you. I take notice. All of it matters. Even you who might not want it to matter, two, namely. You matter. All of you. It all matters. And the love that I have for the people I love.

Less Lazy Than I

I found this poem paired with a photo at flickr. I like it. Wondering whether or not there is more where this came from. Is anyone familiar with Enid Shomer? A Google search didn't turn up much in the way of her poetry. But then I didn't spend much time looking--so hoping there is someone out there less lazy/more informed than I.

Our lures trail
in the prop-wash,
skipping to mimic
live bait. Minutes ago
I watched you
cut up the dead shrimp
that smell like sex.
Now we stand, long
filmy shapes jigsawed
by the waves, and wait
for the rods to arc
heavy with kingfish.
We bring the limit
of eight on board,
their teeth gnashing
against the lures.
And I think how tender
all animal urgency is—
these fish thrashing
to throw the hook,
or a man flinging himself
into the future
each time he enters
a woman. This
is what I picture
all afternoon: you
inside me, your body a stem
bent under the weight
of its flowering,
as beautiful as that;
how carefully
you would lower yourself,
like something winged,
a separate order
of fallen thing
from these angels with fins
who know only once
the difference
between water and air.

—Enid Shomer

By Bus

By Bus

You've got me thinking
not about love
but something else
that time we met
in one of those countries
between the Americas
trying to invent
sound of dust
and red,
the color of memory
before we forget.

What the Bush administration has to say

Found this Bush Memorandum detailing Roberts' record. Here you will find discussions of briefs (not his underwear] and opinions authored by Roberts as well as rebuttals to possible attacks of these statements.

Because I get annoyed with the extremist ways in which issue-specific groups make arguments (seems like they write to excite and incite quickly and without much paying attention to detail i.e. Roberts is devil spawn], I encourage any and all to read this memorandum carefully in order to draw their own conclusions. The "right" but not "the right" conclusions, of course.

More inbox, more about Roberts

Another email. Another post. Another way for Bush to support what he calls "culture of life." Another reason for me to rant and rail against this administration.

Throughout his 26-year career, John G. Roberts has continually supported and promoted an anti-woman, anti-civil rights, and anti-worker agenda. NOW opposed his nomination to U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals for the D.C. Circuit in 2003 on these grounds and will continue to do so to protect the lives of all women and girls in the U.S.


Among our many concerns, Roberts actively opposes Roe v. Wade and wrote several amicus briefs while a Deputy Solicitor General. In one case where Roe was not even at issue, his brief offered gratuitously: "Roe was wrongly decided and should be overruled." He also wrote a brief in a case NOW brought against Operation Rescue in our effort to stop violent blockades at abortion clinics. His brief and oral argument supported Operation Rescue, and argued that the blockades were merely an expression of opposition to abortion. The Court's failure to protect women and clinics from these attacks helped us pass the Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances (FACE) Act the following year. [Bray, et al. v. Alexandria Women's Health Clinic, et al.]


In 2001, Roberts filed an amicus brief in Adarand v. Mineta, supporting a challenge to federal affirmative action programs. He also argued against Title IX, the equal educational opportunity law for women and girls as applied to college athletic programs in NCAA v. Smith.


While in private law practice, Roberts served as lead counsel for Toyota in Toyota Motor Manufacturing, Kentucky, Inc. v. Williams, in which he argued to limit the protections of the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA). The case involved a woman fired after asking Toyota for accommodations to do her job after being diagnosed with carpal tunnel syndrome. The court ruled that while this condition impaired her ability to work, it did not impair her ability to perform a major life activity, and thus was not protected by the ADA.


He is also member of the Federalist Society, an ultra-conservative organization committed to returning to a pre-Civil War era of unquestioned states' rights and rolling back legislation that has advanced women's rights, civil rights, environmental protections and health and safety standards. Federalist Society heroes and leaders you might recognize are Supreme Court Justices Antonin Scalia and Clarence Thomas, former U.S. Attorney General John Ashcroft and Sen. Orrin Hatch (R-Utah).


The character and record of anyone nominated to our nation's highest court must be thoroughly reviewed and considered by the Senate in their important "advice and consent" role. The Senate must be certain the nominee can discern between personal conviction and interpretation of the law as they balance the interpretation of our Constitution and our democracy's promise to protect and expand the civil liberties of all people, not just the privileged few. John Roberts does not meet those standards.

Inbox

Dear Jane,


This much is clear already. Judge Roberts is no Sandra Day O'Connor.


Last night we learned that President Bush wants to replace a woman who voted to uphold Roe v. Wade with a man who argued against Roe v. Wade, and that sends a clear signal that this White House remains bent on opening old wounds and dividing America.


There are big questions that must be answered involving Judge Roberts' judicial philosophy as demonstrated over his short time on the appellate court. The Senate must learn whether he has a clear, consistent commitment to upholding Constitutional standards like civil rights, the right to privacy, and Roe v. Wade. These issues are in serious question if you take even a cursory glance at his record.


We need to ask the tough questions to determine whether John Roberts is the nominee who will give America a Court that is fair, independent, ethical and committed to Constitutional freedoms rather than an ideological agenda, and I promise you I will do everything in my power to assure that no question is sidestepped.


Throughout every step of the confirmation process, I will keep you informed about the questions that need to be asked, the answers we need to demand, and the principles we need to defend. It's impossible to overstate the importance of this moment.


As the U.S. Senate discharges one of its most important responsibilities, I will be active and vigilant. I hope you will do the same, beginning right now. Start by sharing a few words about your personal feelings on the importance of this Supreme Court nomination.


You can submit your comments or questions here:


http://www.johnkerry.com/action/share/


Thank you,


John Kerry


P.S. In the days ahead, we'll be featuring on our johnkerry.com website a cross-section of the comments submitted and contacting you with important information and action requests as events demand. Sign up here if you want to get the latest information. Recruit your friends and neighbors, too.



Paid for by Friends of John Kerry, Inc.

Day in City

Rode subway, without strike or incident, to Ferry Building. Shot in black and white, palm trees, water--the sound of, rust, children and stairs, people napping in city sun of late afternoon.

Embarcadero to Broadway. Walking and thinking. About Nabokov. And later, D.H. Lawrence and even later, Robert Creeley. Sitting in poetry section wanting to think about Diane di Prima and composing a photo from the window. Yellow building, afternoon light, pigeons and pigeon shit, a fire escape. The pyramid beyond and Vesuvio below.

Wondering the time, downstairs. Startled by bustle of influx of people from tour bus.The bustle then and the bustle now. City Lights--then and now. What's changed? Was it them or is it us? What is hip? And who decides? What is beat? Is beat beat? Is beat dead?

Corner of Columbus and Broadway. The guy told me that I could keep my bag because it would be easy to "keep it easy." Same guy to total my purchases and tell me about Mario's and Michelangelo's, homestyle Italian. Far away from the Italy of Gloucester and I am contemplating Italian food and wine to to go with, though I have discovered that it's late and that I'm trying for responsible so I run up one hill and down another--this is San Francisco--past Mario's, past Michelangelo's, past the drunk who tells me that I'm beautiful, alone in the dark and running, running to catch the 9:50 train.









Also, there's a San Francisco set at flickr. If you'd like to look, click on an image, click on a few days in San Francisco (set).

Testing

Summer Gardens

Peas. Sweet and green. Shucking. Sweet and round and most too large to fit into a small boy's nose.

Remembering. Amanda's garden. Aidan eating almost as many peas as we could shuck. Sitting. Summer. Tiny girl. Garden. Peas and tomatoes and sunflowers. And other things too.

Remembering. My mother growing peas. Because she could. Green and sweet and round. Sitting in dirt and shucking and eating. Shucking and eating.

Noticing. My daughter. Sweet and green. Growing peas with her grandmother. From seed in early spring. Then to garden.

Plant. Watch. Grow.

Watch and grow. Shuck and eat. Sweet and green.

In need of hel

There is a roblem with my keyboard. On the diagonal. Four keys do not work. I reeat. Do not work. Can you guess which
A rize to you if you can.

How is a girl to write and tye and ask questions without these keys

If you know how to reair keyboards, lease call or write.

Thank you, most thankfully.

More about Flags

Of Flags and Aidan

Today I have been thinking about the U.S. flag. Hard not to. Flags at GHS flown at half mast, former student, 17, killed in motorcycle accident. Later, political cartoon in GDT about burning flags, and what to do about flag burning. Burnt flag on Stacy Boulevard. Feeling sick when looking at it--unlike Vietnam, flag does not seem to protest anything, except flag burning. Been thinking about people who collect money so that flags can fly along boulevard. What that means and why they do it. Been thinking, too, about the flag vandals who waste the flag money. And about my own connection to flags, their sound in breeze, the night of Ian's service not touching to vandalize but because the sound of nylon hitting nylon was comforting. Thinking about my parents' generation. My grandparents'. Their patriotism in contrast to my patriotism--and why it's different. Been thinking about the veterans I know--Grumps, my grandfather, Grampy. One who can't and won't talk about his experience at war. One no longer living who loved to talk about the war and fly the flag, war veterans always heroes. Another busy constructing remote-control airplanes to museum perfection, replica of B25 bomber that he flew in WWII, trying to get back to the adrenaline, the fight for something that he believed in, the skies. Memories of Las Vegas, Nevada, as a kid, driving to outskirts of town to fly the war-inspired planes that my grandfather built and to learn how to shoot a gun, stunned by the kick of the gun when I pulled the trigger.

Stunned I am at my reaction when I see a U.S. flag, though I will not fly one because of the mixed up way the flag makes me feel. Sentimental, compassionate, patriotic. I think about lives lost--some for something, some for nothing. About sacrifices made--families, mothers and fathers losing children in war, gripped with sadness. Then I think about Nena passing on Grumps' flag to Tad, the one given to her at his burial. Given to Tad because it is important to her and was to Grumps. I think about it sitting in a corner of our bedroom, our not knowing what to do with it. Then the opposite. Anger. U.S. imperialism--the attitude that this country knows best, does best. Denial that a war might be about something other than freedom. Denial that there is reason to hate the U.S.--reason more than jealousy or religious zealotry. Idea that American flag symbolizes greed in many parts of the world. I think of the corporate flag from Adbusters, corporate logos spread across an image of the U.S. flag. Makes me think about the cost of this country's desire to be happy, about American values, about my values.

Wondering, as always, what to teach my children. How much to tell and how much to keep to myself? Aidan noticing, "Nena has a flag and Nanny and Dappa do not." And wondering what to say when Aidan asks, "Mommy, why don't we have a flag at our house?" I've given a few simple answers such as, "Not everyone likes to fly a flag (which elicits, "but why?") And the flag means different things to different people," but these answers seem vague, hollow. I want to tell her more. She deserves more. And I will tell her more. At some point.

For now, though, I am certain about one thing and that is that this post will keep. And that I have written it for Aidan as much as I have written it for myself.

Impromptu

When I paint I do so quickly, not without care, but without purpose, except to apply paint to canvas. Because if I think too much there is paralysis, nothing created. Ever.

I do not try for something. It tries for me and then I wait. Wait to see whether or not I like what I have created. Sometimes yes. Sometimes no, as with triptych painted recently. Colors right. Images right. Bottom right corner wrong. I look and it bothers, though I didn't see until later. And creating first, painstakingly, would have produced nothing.

It is the same with writing. When I think to write, almost nothing. Overwrought. Overthought. That is why I like a blog. Less thinking, more writing.

A poem. Impromptu. For to sit, to see, to wait.



For a basket of cherries
will you love me
low and sweet
lip to lip
and
lung to lung?

To try for close means
brown thighs, bare
lovely in their ability
to noise the silence.

Real is as
drunken butterfly
kissing barfly into midnight
and
alighting
with iron feet.

Nostalgia,
violet, no n
the breath of sound to ear
loving low
coupling sweet--and w/o purpose.

Viva!

Last night before bed I read the police notes. An item about a man taking unwanted photographs during Fiesta. This morning I woke to a dream. Wandering and sausage. Elvis singing Neil Diamond. Ferris wheel detaching from its mount and rolling through the crowd, smashing people like in a bad horror flick. Confetti and kissing St. Peter, kissing the money attached to his back. Halter tops bejeweled with diamonds, emeralds and rubies. A cat fight in the women's bathroom at Old Timer's, flying hair and eyelashes and fuckyous. Fernando and strobe lights. Seine boats surfing a tidal wave. A set of man legs running wildly in red, fishnet stockings, independent of torso. Burnt flag on boulevard encased in glass. God eating fried dough.

Perhaps these are the photographs that I wish I had taken, unwanted or not, though I did have a good time at Fiesta. Here are a few photos that I did take, wanted, unwanted?, to prove it.









To see more, click on an image.

for S

We call it therapy. The act of caring for someone. To care. To care to listen. To care to feel. To care to ask the question. To care to know the answer. To hear the answer. To see the color that the answer will be. How to know when not to care. How to care not too much. Not too much, but enough. Enough.

Day Zees

Cat Butt Gum...Rear

Cat Butt Gum...Rear
Originally uploaded by KitschKat.

And please click on the image so that you can read the type to learn when and if you should chew. Or eschew.

A Brief History...


Brothers Seth and Mitch Nash founded Blue Q 17 years ago in Boston, Massachusetts. Mitch sold a successful music merchandising business (a venture which enabled him to attend all the rock concerts he wanted to) and Seth left high-tech engineering to be a self-employed mad scientist. They thought they would join forces (after all they were successful building elaborate and bizarre construction projects in their backyard because their mother didn't let them watch TV) and start a company. Designer Lighting was going to be the product. But one day, in their usual madcap way, in a roomy loft in Boston, they created the infamous Flat Cat. The Flat Cat was a two dimensional cardboard kitty that was marketed as the Perfect Pet. They sold millions of them and the quirky Blue Q product line was born. Designer driven with a huge emphasis on packaging and quality, Blue Q conquered the gift world with more flat pets, stationary, cards, refrigerator magnets and soap. After successfully importing a personal care line from Australia, Blue Q began to create its own line of soaps and toiletries in late 1998. This growing line maintains a diverse and distinct look with personal care lines such as Queen, Tainted Love, Wash Away Your Sins, Miso Pretty, Balls, and the queen of them all, Dirty Girl. In 2003 Blue Q entered into a wildly different market - chewing gum. What they will do next is classified. The company is now based out of a renovated player piano factory in Pittsfield Massachusetts in the bucolic Berkshires. 13 employees man the administration and art departments where music blares all day and they all take turns making lunch. Mitch art directs all the products, working closely with designers from across the country in a workspace dominated by a 3-½ foot barbed-wire ball. Seth is the financial and systems guru behind his bank of computers. A warehouse and distribution center employing 20 people as well as approximately 12 individuals in a handicapped workshop is located a mile away. New products are being developed constantly. Dirty Girl has grown into a legitimate cosmetics brand with the likes of Courtney Love, Minnie Driver and Chrissie Hynde hording her wares. Dirty Girl as well as many other blue Q brands can be found in Bloomingdale's, Nordstrom, Bendel's, specialty shops throughout the nation, and online at Sesto-Senso.com.

Cat Butt Gum

Cat Butt Gum
Originally uploaded by KitschKat.

Here it is. And I'm going to post the back of the package too. And then I'll post the bit of information from BlueQ in Pittsfield because I think it's funny.

The Hitching

If so desired, click on this image, click on Wedding at Stage Fort (set). Click on slideshow--to see a few more photos.